Soldier
by this-now
Summary: Hadley Logan. Seventeen, sir.


_**Disclaimer; I don't own anything associated with Falling Skies.**_

"We're movin' out!" Captain Weavers yells, startling me awake. I lay on my stomach, holding myself up by my elbows. Groaning slightly, I flop back onto my cot, soaking up a few seconds more of rest. It doesn't last long. I hear a rustle and someone's soft hands shake me gently. "Hey, come on, Hadley." Hal's voice is quiet, only a little louder than a whisper. I cringe. "We gotta go, now," he tells me, shaking me again. I whimper into my pillow and speak into it. The result is muffled. "Do I have to?" I swing my body up and my legs slump off the bed. I shiver as the cold air hits my bare arms. "You have to," Hal says. Someone calls his name outside. He nods goodbye and lifts up the tent flap and disappears. I put my feet on the ground and hold my head in my hands, rubbing at my eyes. Weaver is a good man, but he can be so infuriating. I'll bet it's not long past 6 am and he's having us head out to do god knows what. I throw my hair up messily in a bun and put my boots on. I stand up slowly, looking around for my necklace, checking under my sheets and in my backpack. It has a dog tag on the chain with my father's name engraved. It's the only thing I have left of him. Reaching under the sheets, I feel the cold silver against my fingertips. I pull it out by the chain and put it on.

"Logan!" Weaver calls again in a frustrated tone. "You know it wouldn't hurt to call me by my first name once in a while, Captain!" I yell back, slinging my backpack over my right shoulder, stepping out into the icy air. A group of people have gathered a few feet away, all staring at me. I roll my eyes slightly and make my way over. "And what time do you call this, Sir?" I bite.

"Time to go," he says flatly and starts walking away from the group. Everyone else follows short.

"Always a pleasure," I mutter under my breath before I trudge behind the group.

"Is it something you would wear?" Landon asks in a frustrated tenor, but still the grin never leaves. I shake my head for the thirty-seventh time. I have to give it to him though, I would have certainly given up by now. "Then what? What is it?" He chortles. I smirk, looking down at the gravelled road. The crunch of our footsteps sounding like a monotonous symphony; a constant pulse against the earth, never missing a note. I look up. I pinch my thumb and forefinger together and run them over my lips. "Come on!" He giggles. I never knew Landon before the invasion. It was only until the my father and I came across the second Massachusetts a year and a half ago. We were looking for fuel to run this car my dad had found when the aliens attacked the town we happened to be right in the middle of. Then we heard the guns and knew that there had to be people nearby. And even better they were fighting back. I met Landon two days after that. "At least give me a clue. I deserve that much." His mouth stays agape in a smile, waiting for me to answer.

"Nope. No clues." I tease.

"Does it make a sound?" Hal asks from behind. I turn my body around so that I walk backwards. I scrunch my eyebrows together. "Depends," I say. He rolls his eyes playfully and I turn back around. We draw near to a series of red bricked structures out skirting the city. And as we get closer I can almost read the small print above the doors on one of the buildings. It read _Citadel_.Captain Weaver clears his throat.

"Stop here."

I breathe deeply and slowly. _I'm not afraid_. When we arrived, we decided that someone should go in first to check the coast is clear. Nobody spoke up so I offered. I turn around a corner and another long and empty hallway follows. I keep going, biting down on my tongue until I taste a swirling copper. I keep going. Further and further, and further more. Eventually I come to a large warehouse opening with high shelves and more rows and hallways. Abruptly, I stop when I hear the sound of glass smashing. I spin around frantically. I can barely see anything, though I do catch something a few metres away, behind a wooden carrier. I put my finger on the trigger and press down a little. I walk in closer until I am right next to where the movement was. I point my gun down behind it but there is nothing there. I take a deep breath and start walking again. Soon the only sound I hear is that of my own breathing and the crunch of my footsteps on the debris.

"Look what stumbled in," I hear a manic voice taunt. It sends a tremor down my spine. At that moment my whole body tenses. I crack my head around in all directions. I push down on the trigger slightly. I can barely see a damn thing. I hear laughter. The nauseating, ugly kind. Just as I turn to look back the way I came, a man's robust arm wraps around my waist, pulling me backwards sharply. I drop the knife. His rough hand covers my mouth. I try and slip from his grasp, throwing my body; my limbs in all directions. But to no avail. I feel his sticky breath on my collar bone. I hold onto the pistol as tightly as I can. He wrestles it almost out of my grasp when I decide to take a chance. I twist it around with every ounce of strength I have against him. I press down on the trigger. It echoes out into the air like a scream. He lets go. I point the weapon at my attacker: a brutal looking man now cradling his would like a new born. He falls, struggling to breathe. "Who are you?!" I yell. The only reply I get is the gurgle that comes from his throat. Blood stains his teeth. I grimace. "Answer me!" I kick his side near his wound and he cries out. Gritting my teeth I spit out "I swear to god, I will kill you." He still doesn't answer. My hands quiver, stretching my arms out, curling my finger around the trigger.

"Is that so?" A confident voice speaks from behind me. I spin around immediately, pointing the firearm at them. In the dim light, I see him smile, and then he laughs. "Who the hell are you?" I feel my eyes well up in anger; bitter salty tears threaten to fall down my cheeks. He moves a step closer. "You know what? I don't think you're gonna do a damn thing."

"Don't-" I hesitate as he holds up his hands in defence. "Please, just don't!" I cry out.

"Okay. Okay." He slowly puts his arms down and lets them fall limp to his sides. The man I shot stars coughing and spluttering behind me, then he goes silent. I look over my shoulder: his chest still rises and falls. A tear burns its way over my skin. I turn back. "Do you know him?" I cock my head back slightly and lift up my free arm and rub at my sniffling nose and wipe at my wet cheeks trying my hardest to be as fearless as possible. He nods a couple of times. "How?"

"Brother," he says under his breath then clears his throat. "He's my brother." He says more clearly. For a split second I feel a pang of guilt rise up through my spine; piercing my lungs. But then it's gone. Just as it came it left. "He attacked me," I state, not as assuredly as I would have hoped.

"Yeah, I know, kid. So what?" He shrugs, turning the corners of his lips upside down. I scoff at him. All of a sudden chortles spill from his mouth and over his chin. I take a step back and he follows stepping forward. "Stay back." I instruct. He doesn't move again as I take another step back and crouch beside the man I injured. He splutters words barely audible; blood dripping from his lips. I stand again. "So what's your big plan, hmm?" He yaks pompously raising his eyebrows. "You gonna keep pointing that thing at me until you pick up the damn nerve to shoot me too?" He shakes his head repeatedly. He starts to slowly stretch out his arm with an open palm, inching forward. "Give me the gun, sweetheart."

"No." I sob shaking my head, letting the welled up tears tumble down my cheeks.

"Just give it to me." He inches forward more, but this time I do not move back. I feel like if I moved my legs now that they would cripple under my weight. My lip quivers: my right hand shakes and my left is squeezed into a fist. "Just give me the-"

"Hadley?" I huff out a breath as if it had been choking me all along. I snap around and see Landon at the front of the straggled out group slowing down from a run; his eyes widened and his gun withdrawn as the rest have. Before I can even think, the gun I held is no longer in my hand but pressed to my temple: the man's arm snaked around my neck. I wince – the pain of the barrel pressed to my skin intensifies as I find it harder and harder to breathe. I pull my arms up and try to pry his arm away though I know he is too strong.

Everyone stops dead.


End file.
